


stay up late, keep it low

by crookedfingers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ('clothes' being 'a suit of armor'), Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Clothed Sex, F/F, First Time, Past Character Death, Pining, Reunions, Sparring, generic inauthentic fantasy medieval nonsense, haunted armor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-28 04:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedfingers/pseuds/crookedfingers
Summary: Fareeha Amari has been dead for three years before Brigitte asks to kiss her.Fareeha Amari has been dead for four years before she agrees to it.





	stay up late, keep it low

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DryDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/gifts).

> This is an entry Dead Dove Events' _Secret Not-Samhain_ gift exchange.
> 
> If you're really passionate about the accuracy of vaguely medieval fiction, please don't read this.

When the sun disappeared, the suit of armor began to burn.

The flames were silver. They gave off no heat, but they were bright and painful to look at. Brigitte watched for as long as she could, but at last she had to duck her head and shield her eyes with an arm.

When the glow she could see through her eyelids faded enough for her to be able to open her eyes again, the armor was no longer lying empty on the stone block: it was standing tall before her. Then the armet opened to expose the face behind it, and Fareeha Amari smiled at her in welcome.

* * *

Fareeha fell on the last day of the year’s tenth month.

The winter lodge stood empty through the turn of the year and the spring. During summer’s long bright days Ana returned to bring flowers and speak the funerary Rites. She left the flowers outside, and did not enter.

The court did not return to the lodge when the season turned cold. Wild magic had a way of lingering. It seeped into everything it touched. One person might not wake it up again, but the whole court coming back to the place where blood had been spilled surely would. There was nothing to be done about it but to give it time. Who could say how long. Years.

But Brigitte came alone, herself and her horse only, in secret, one year from the day they’d been attacked by the strange things that had once been men, eaten by the forest and spat into the world again all hungry and cruel and relentless.

And Brigitte did open the lodge doors. She did go inside. She expected it to be horrible, foul with old rot and the mess of animal inhabitation, but it was curiously pristine. The air did not stink; there were no roosting birds or spiders or mice. There were no blood stains on the floors.

There were no bodies. Not of their attackers. Not Fareeha.

But her armor was there. Scattered on the floor, scuffed.

Brigitte gathered and tended to each piece as diligently as she’d been taught. As diligently as Fareeha would have done. There was no one to see her cry—not even birds or spiders or mice.

When she was done, she laid out the armor and spoke her own rights for the dead, and then ate a lonely supper in the bed she hadn’t slept in for a year, where she once would have been scolded for scattering crumbs.

And when the day turned dark, the wild magic woke.

* * *

“There haven’t been any other attacks during the year?” Fareeha asked as they left the stables; she’d insisted on giving her greetings to Brigitte’s big, patient gelding before anything else. Though her face was unchanged, except for a faint vapor that curled around her, he seemed to have trouble recognizing her except when she spoke. He'd accepted a lump of sugar only after coaxing. But Fareeha loved him, and forgave him for his gentle suspicion.

“None,” Brigitte said. “I didn’t have any trouble on the roads, but I was worried I’d be late getting here. I barely had time to light the fires before dark. It rained almost every day last month. You’d have hated it; it never stopped. Some of the bridges have washed out because the water was so high, so I had to find other places to cross.”

Fareeha frowned. “That sounds dangerous.”

Brigitte heard in her tone the urge to scold her for being too daring, and she put up her hands a though to ward off a fight. “It wasn’t! I promise I’ll be safe going back. The banks are all torn up, but the water has gone down. I can take the long way home, since I won’t be worried about the time.”

Fareeha seemed mollified by that, but she still said, “Make sure that you’re not traveling after dark.”

“Of course, mother,” Brigitte sing-songed. “Oh; let me tell you about your mother! This year she—”

“Let’s talk about her later,” Fareeha interrupted. “Tell me about yourself first, Brigitte.”

“What about me?”

“Everything! Come on now; pick something to start with and then keep talking.”

Brigitte smiled, but her walk grew slower, and then she stopped. “Fareeha… While it's still early, I want to talk to you about something.”

Fareeha stopped, too. She made a concerned, inquisitive motion with her head. “What is it?”

“I think you should let me kiss you.”

There was a moment’s pause before Fareeha said, “We _already_ talked about this. It’s not a good idea.”

“I think it is! It’s worth trying!”

“It could hurt you.”

“But you don’t know that! I don’t think it will! Fareeha, it could help you!”

Fareeha shook her head and started to walk again, but Brigitte ran ahead of her and got in her way. Fareeha had already refused her once before, when she had made the same suggestion last year. It was too dangerous, Fareeha had said. They didn't understand her... condition, except that she was bound to her armor and, most likely, whatever wild magic lingered in the lodge. If they kissed, the magic might also affect Brigitte. Might try to take her over. Brigitte had dropped the idea, more embarrassed than worried, but she'd had a year to think about what to do. Now she squared her shoulders, threw out her chest, and said, “I’ll fight you for it.”

Fareeha looked at her in bewilderment and said, “What?”

“A fight. A duel. I, I’m challenging you. A fight by swords. If I win—if I prove myself—you have to let me kiss you.”

Fareeha Amari could not be moved by any argument, but her pride as a fighter was a powerful force. Even playfully issued, she was reluctant to ignore a challenge. She stood still for a long time before she said, almost despite herself, “And what do I get if I win?”

“If you win, I won’t ask you again.”

Fareeha scoffed and said, “Hardly a reward,” but it was answer enough.

Brigitte didn’t travel wearing plate mail, but there was an old suit of armor that fit her still in the armory room, which was spacious enough for practice duels. She had Fareeha had sparred there last year, just for the joy of it. Fareeha helped her into the plate in silence before they took up their swords.

They faced each other in the dim room. A gesture began the fight.

Fareeha swept forward, leading with an immediate strike. She was a deliberate, calculating fighter, but she’d always pressed her advantages when she could. For years her long reach and stride had made her a nearly unbeatable opponent. She could attack head-on without letting anyone else close enough to land a counter strike.

But Brigitte had grown tall, too.

She caught the blow and deflected it, and, while Fareeha was still recovering, plunged forward with her own attack. Fareeha guarded herself expertly, but Brigitte followed through a second time. She struck hard and fast, again and again, one move flowing directly into the next without pause, offering no room for retaliation. With each strike she advanced, and Fareeha gave ground, backing away from her. Fareeha’s offensive skill was staggering—so Brigitte forced her to defend herself, instead.

Brigitte couldn’t overcome the gap in experience between them through brute force, but she knew how Fareeha fought far better than Fareeha knew her. She’d spent years observing her, studying her. She knew Fareeha’s tendencies and habits as well as she knew her own. And an entire year had passed since their last match. A year of training, and practice, and refinement. Brigitte had honed her style better than ever before. She was good, and she wanted to show off. 

She felt Fareeha’s surprise through her movements. Her reactions lagged the slightest bit, as though she couldn’t believe that she was in the position of guarding herself.

It made Brigitte’s feet lighter, her heart more joyful. She smiled inside her helmet, and surged gleefully into every advance. The sound of her sword against Fareeha’s was more beautiful than all of summer’s birdsong.

But the longer the fight went on, the better Fareeha got at anticipating her movements. She was quicker to react to the feints had startled her toward the beginning of the fight. And Fareeha did not get tired; she did not need to catch her breath. The sweat did not run into her eyes.

Tiredness began to make Brigitte's body heavy. Her arm wobbled as she delivered a strike, and Fareeha instantly closed in on her like a hound seeing its quarry stumble, switching to a fierce offensive. The force of the attacks made Brigitte’s arm sting, and she took a step back. Then another.

Fareeha backed her across the room, reclaiming all the ground Brigitte had won moments ago. Brigitte’s heart beat hard. She felt it even in her teeth, which started to ache. Any error at all would decide the fight. Brigitte caught her breath raggedly every time she staved off an attack, still backing away step by step. She knew this room well, knew how far she could retreat before there was no more space at her back, but she could not spare an instant to turn her head or even take her eyes away.

But when her heel caught on a fissure in the floor and her weight lurched backward, she made no effort to catch her balance or save herself. She cried “oh!” as she tripped, staggered, and crashed backward to the floor. The noise of the fall was tremendously loud in the nearly empty room. She felt rattled and breathless as she looked up at the ceiling.

She did not drop her sword.

Fareeha came to a stop at her feet. There was a shocked pause, then she lowered herself, arm extended to offer her hand for help.

Brigitte took it. And she pulled.

Fareeha came down with a shout and a clatter, and Brigitte threw her over onto her back before Fareeha could catch herself. With Fareeha’s hand still in hers, Brigitte hauled herself up and over and sat herself firmly over Fareeha’s waist, sword to her neck. One-handed, she’d barely be able to deliver a clean finishing move, but that was no matter.

“Looks like I won,” she said, brightly.

Fareeha smacked a hand against her chest, making her armor reverberate. “You have not won!” she shouted. “That was—improper! This is not the way to win!”

“Any way is a way to win, if you’re fighting for your life.”

“This was—this was not a fight for your life! There are still _rules_!” Fareeha batted her sword aside with a hand, as if it were an annoying fly buzzing at her face. “And if it had been a fight for our lives, I would have _won_. So you’re _lucky_ there are rules!”

Brigitte laughed, but Fareeha gave her another push, so she withdrew her sword and stood, releasing Fareeha’s hand. Fareeha got to her feet unassisted with enviable ease, even with her sword still in hand. Brigitte returned hers to its scabbard so that she could open her armet to catch her breath. The fresh air felt wonderful against her damp face.

“If you let me give you a kiss, I’ll concede that we had a draw,” she said, reasonably.

Fareeha pushed her visor to glare rather than to breathe. “You said that was the condition for winning, and you did not win.”

“Well, then, I offer it as a reward for your victory.”

Fareeha’s snorted furiously, as though Brigitte had said something mortally offending. “I can’t accept it as a victory. There’s no victory when the rules aren’t—”

Frustration bubbled suddenly from of the core of Brigitte’s chest. She flung her arms to either side, raising her voice: “You care so much about the rules, but they didn’t protect you, Fareeha! So why does it still matter?”

Fareeha’s entire body rocked once. The vapor coming off her skin intensifies, starting to pour out of every gap in her armor. Without speaking she turned partly aside and brushed at her arm, as though it had picked up dirt.

Brigitte swallowed. Shame made her throat ache.

“Fareeha— That was a terrible thing for me to say. I am sorry. I am very sorry. You’re so strong, and—”

“Well, but you’re right,” Fareeha said, briskly. “I’ve already lost as much as anyone can, haven’t I? I don’t know why you would want to test yourself against me.”

“Because I want us to be as good as you,” Brigitte said, in despair. “And I want you to see that I’ve gotten better and, and, and to be proud of me.”

“Other people can see how much better you’ve gotten just as well as I can, Brigitte.”

“But I want it to be you! Fareeha, you— I’m so sorry that no one could help you when you needed it. But you saved everyone. You _did_. If you hadn’t—” She swallowed again, and she felt the track of a drop of water slide down her face from the corner of her eye, but there was nothing she could do about it. “I just _miss_ you, Fareeha. I want you to come back. And this, this could work. I think it could. I’m not asking because I want to make fun of you. I only want to help, but you won’t _let_ me. I just want to try. It’s worth trying. I’d try anything to help you.”

Fareeha turned back to face her. But she only looked, saying nothing. Then she snapped her visor down with a quick motion and lashed out with her sword.

Brigitte did not have time to draw her weapon. She should have dodged—but something else happened. Her heel slid back, bracing, and she slapped the blade aside with the palm of her gauntlet as it thrust toward her. The point swung from its intended path, and she swiftly and unthinkingly slid her hand down the length of the blade along its flat edge and grabbed Fareeha’s own hands, where they were wrapped around the hilt. Then she grabbed the blade itself with her other hand, taking control of the sword’s range of motion. Without gauntlets, her fingers would be badly cut if Fareeha tried to fight her off, but better a maimed hand than a sword point through her neck.

She let out a breathy “hah” of shock and exertion, and she and Fareeha bore against each other, locked in place by their mutual effort to control the sword, which quaked between them as they struggled for the advantage. Fareeha could still break away, could come at her again. She wasn’t sure she’d even have the time to arm herself, and she might not ward Fareeha off bare handed a second time.

But Fareeha did not attack. Fareeha laughed. Her arms relaxed. Brigitte managed to swing the sword down so that it pointed at the floor.

“Dangerous!” Fareeha said. “But good reflexes. That was well done.”

Brigitte squeezed the blade harder. “Are you going to attack me again?”

“No. Let go.”

She did, and Fareeha sheathed her sword calmly, then clapped her on the shoulder.

“I yield.”

“—What?”

“You won. I wanted to know if you really could.”

“But I didn’t…” Brigitte trailed off. It was not to her advantage to argue with Fareeha about this, but she didn’t understand.

“I’d never concede a fight to someone who couldn’t rightfully win by their own power. Now I know that you could. So I yield.”

Brigitte did not know what to say. She watched mutely, panting for breath, as Fareeha lifted her visor and said, “So you can have your reward. If you want it.”

“I see,” Brigitte said, faintly. She wanted to catch her breath again, and drink some water, and take off her armor, but she could not imagine deciding to spend time on anything _other_ than kissing Fareeha, now that she had permission. “Would you like to, um—now?”

“Any time you choose. It’s your reward, after all.”

“Oh.”

Brigitte pulled off her helmet and walked it deliberately to the armor stand. Sweat had plastered long strands of hair to her forehead and face and neck, but she hadn’t brought a cloth to dry herself. She must look like a ruddy child right now.

If she waited, she could find some way to bathe herself and make herself look nice, like a lady. She could comb out her hair and put on her freshest clothes and dab herself with the little vial of fragrant oil tucked into her saddle bag. But urgency squirmed under under his skin and in the pit of her stomach. They had just one night a year, and every moment it was closer to ending. It would take time to make herself clean and neat. It would bring them closer to morning.

She turned back and saw that Fareeha hadn’t moved, standing so still that Brigitte might mistake her for empty armor on display. Brigitte walked toward her.

“I think mine has to stay on,” Fareeha said, and Brigitte understood.

Fareeha’s visor was already raised, but Brigitte reached to open the pieces that covered her mouth and chin, pushing them apart to either side of her face. There was no trace of sweat or fatigue on her.

Brigitte clasped the armet lightly between her hands.

If either of them spoke now, they wouldn’t be able to do it. It. This.

This.

Brigitte kissed her. It was like putting her mouth to a cool running stream. Brigitte felt no plush skin, no breath. But there was something. A sense of energy or—something. Like fine silk brushing her lips, or a brisk wind that came before a winter gale, it was not living, but it was _alive_. Something flowed between them. Passed from one to the other, though she could not say with whom it began and ended.

Maybe that energy was the feeling of—a transformation. Life _returning_. Her heart surged, and she opened her eyes and drew back to look.

But it was all the same. Fareeha was still pristine, and the strange mist still rose from her skin. There was a plunging feeling inside Brigitte, as though something had fallen down her throat all the way to her belly. “Fareeha, I, I’m so sorry. I thought—”

What else could she say?

Fareeha frowned. She asked, “Did that hurt you?”

“No. Did it hurt _you_?”

“It felt warm.” Fareeha touched her own mouth, wonderingly. “I haven’t felt…” She gave a little laugh that sounded like an echo inside a deep well. “Nothing’s been warm since I…”

“You liked it? Was it good?”

“It’s nice to be warm. I don’t like the cold.”

Brigitte struggled out of her gauntlets. She threw them onto the floor, and Fareeha made a shocked, disapproving noise.

Brigitte reached for her and laid both hands on her face where the skin was uncovered. “What about that? Is that warm?”

Fareeha grabbed her wrists, and Brigitte thought she would pull her hands away, but she did not. “Oh—it’s—yes.”

Brigitte laughed, high and breathy, and moved her hands to Fareeha’s shoulders. Fareeha made a surprised noise. Her eyes were very big. “Oh. I can feel that.”

“What? Here?” She patted her hands up and down on the armor, and Fareeha nodded.

“Yes. Warm and—I don’t know. I feel where your hands are.”

It seemed shocking now that she’d never touched Fareeha with her bare hands during these four years. Hadn’t they embraced before, when they were first reunited four years ago? But when she thought about it, she remembered that her hands had been so stiff from the cold after cleaning Fareeha’s armor that she’d put on her mittens afterward. And then… it hadn’t seemed like something she should do. Fareeha didn’t touch other people if she didn’t need to.

Brigitte spread her fingers. “It feels good? Being warm?”

Fareeha hesitated. But she said, “Yes.”

“Help, help me with the rest.”

Fareeha did not seem to understand at first. She didn’t do anything until Brigitte began to struggle with the fastenings of her own armor.

They’d done this many times, for other knights and for each other. Fareeha was careful with each piece, and did not put anything on the floor as Brigitte had done with her gauntlets. She walked each piece to the armor stand where the helmet already rested and put each precisely where it belonged. Always so careful with everything. But not herself.

When she was finally freed from her padded jacket, Brigitte stepped forward and threw her arms around Fareeha, laying her cheek against her shoulder. She squeezed Fareeha in her arms, though the armor was uncomfortable and unyielding against her body.

“Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” Fareeha said, faintly. “But just… Where it’s just you. Where there isn’t - clothes.”

“Oh.” Brigitte took her arms from around Fareeha and stepped back. She considered what to do. Then she started to remove her shirt.

She stopped when Fareeha clamped her hands around her waist, holding the shirt in place. “It’s too cold!” she yelled. “What are you doing? You’ll get sick!”

“Let’s go somewhere warmer, then.”

She brought Fareeha to her bedroom. Just hers now; she didn't have to share it with her siblings anymore. It was no warmer in there than in the other room, really, but Fareeha could not tell the difference. As long as Brigitte pretended that it was warmer, Fareeha would have to be satisfied.

She’d left a fire burning in the room, but it was small. She’d built it up only enough so that some embers could last through the night until morning. She planned to sleep through the day here, and it would be easier to heat the room to a comfortable temperature if she didn’t have to start the fire from scratch after being awake through the entire night.

Now the fire barely glowed, most of the wood collapsed down into a warm little nest of drowsy embers. Fareeha strode past her, knelt at the hearth, and pushed her hand directly into the fire. She stirred it up, turning the firewood until the unburned fragments finally caught. When the embers turned to low flames, she took up pieces of the firewood Brigitte had already gathered and began to feed them into the fire.

“Don’t use it all,” Brigitte said. “I’ll need some later.”

“You need some now,” Fareeha said. “There’s still plenty.”

Brigitte sighed. Before she left the lodge she’d have to cut and store more wood so she’d have a stock available next year. Maybe she’d light a blazing fire in every hearth before Fareeha woke up again, make it so bright and warm in every room that they could imagine it was a summer’s evening.

But it would be a poor illusion. If it were summer, they wouldn’t be in the winter lodge at all.

Brigitte sat on her old bed. The fire’s heat was beginning to reach her; the darkness fell back to the corners of the room. The night was quiet and undisturbed. It seemed almost normal.

At last Fareeha stood, apparently satisfied with her efforts. She turned around, the fire blazing behind her. The outline of her body gleamed metallic white.

“Thank you,” Brigitte said. “It’s very comfortable. Come sit with me.”

Fareeha came and sat. Closer than Brigitte expected she would. Then a point of intense heat touched her leg, and Brigitte gasped and bounced away.

Fareeha leapt instantly to her feet. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s all right!” Brigitte said hastily. Fareeha’s armor radiated ferocious heat where it had been in the fire. One of her fingers had come close enough touch. She’d felt it even through her clothes, though it hadn’t blistered the skin. “Nothing’s wrong. Just—your hand is very hot. Come sit on the other side of me.”

Fareeha hesitated, and Brigitte patted the bed insistently. “Please sit, Fareeha.”

Fareeha sat, but farther away than before. She kept her hand far to the side, and moved it back and forth through the air, trying to cool the metal. She looked troubled and embarrassed.

“Wait,” Brigitte said. “Hold out your hand. Keep it still.”

Brigitte removed her shirt. This time Fareeha could not physically stop her without risk of burning her; there was nothing she could do. She held completely, rigidly still as Brigitte took her shirt and bound it carefully around her hand as though bandaging a wound. The result was bulky but secure.

Brigitte touched the fabric with the backs of her fingers. Heat soaked through the shirt, but it was bearable to the touch, at least for a time.

“Oh,” Fareeha said. She rotate her arm, studying the wrapped hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s strange. You don’t feel the fire, but you feel—” she laid a hand on Fareeha’s upper arm— “this?”

Fareeha’s arm was slightly warm, too. The fire had heated the whole front of her body.

“Yes,” she said, after a small silence.

“I’m glad.” She pulled Fareeha’s arm toward her, bringing the wrapped hand close to her own neck. It radiated a pleasant heat against her skin.

Fareeha did not move. At all. She could hold perfectly still, without the slightest waver. A knight whose steadiness could not be matched by anyone, no matter how much they trained.

But her eyes moved. Back and forth. To her own hand. To Brigitte’s eyes. To her mouth.

Slowly, Fareeha cupped the back of her neck, over her hair.

Unlike the armor, Fareeha’s lips were no warmer. Brigitte felt them against hers for only a moment. They leaned their foreheads together.

Fareeha asked, quietly, “Did you think it would work? A kiss?”

Brigitte shut her eyes. “I dreamed it did. I dreamed it did.”

She bowed her forehead to the stern breastplate and blinked to keep her eyes from running over.

In her waking thoughts and in her dreams it had been so easy, like it was in stories. A kiss to dispel curses, to wake the unwaking, to restore sight, to transform monsters back into who they were supposed to be. No other price to pay. No other magic. No lost or bargained souls. It required only faith, and devotion, and love. True love.

They’d never have to come back to this place again. The forest could take it all. The wild magic could have every stone of it for as long as it wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha said.

Brigitte sniffed as quietly as she could and rubbed her wrist over her eyes.

“Do you dream about anything?”

“I don’t know.”

Fareeha could not explain what happened when she was not inside the armor. She had some sense of time passing, but she had no words to describe what she saw or felt. Brigitte’s great fear was that she spent the rest of her time in darkness and silence, alone. Fareeha had told her, no, it was not like that, but she could say nothing else about it. It just _happened_, but she couldn't talk about it any more than Brigitte could talk about what it was like to fall asleep.

Fareeha smoothed her hand over her hair. Then she said, “You shouldn’t come back again.”

Brigitte pulled away in shock, forgetting that she didn’t want Fareeha to see that she’d begun to cry. “Why? Why?”

“It’s dangerous. Coming here and staying here. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m not alone—you’re here! And I’m not—defenseless! I’ve been fighting for years. I’ve been training!”

“I trained, too,” Fareeha said, patiently.

“But it would have been different if you’d been alone. If you weren’t guarding anyone else, you could have—” She sucked air through her teeth and shook her head. “I won’t get hurt.”

“There are other things you could be doing. You shouldn’t waste your time here.”

“It’s not a waste. I want to spend my time with _you_.”

“For how long?” Fareeha asked, bitingly. She leaned farther away. “Nothing is going to work, Brigitte. I’ll always be like this. How many years will you return before you don’t want to anymore? One day you might live even farther away won’t have time to travel such a distance, or there will be a heavy snow and you won’t want be out in the cold, or you won’t want to be away from your family. You want to marry, don’t you, Brigitte? You think you’ll want to leave your home and your spouse to be _here_? This empty place? It, it’s better if you just stop now than if I expect you to be here every time and one day you - you aren’t.”

Fareeha unwound the shirt from around her hand. She stood and walked away from the bed. Sparks flew into the air as she threw another log into the fire.

Brigitte followed her. She placed herself in front of Fareeha, standing much closer than she could have done if she were still in her own armor. Fareeha met her eyes for an instant, then glanced aside at the fire. It didn’t light her face the way it should have. There was no glow on her skin or in her eyes. She didn’t reflect anything.

“You’re not going to stay here,” Brigitte said, low and fierce. She sounded quite angry when she heard herself, even though she was afraid. “And you won’t be alone. I swear it, I swear it, I swear it.” She found the hand that Fareeha had put into the fire earlier and pulled it up. She pressed her lips to the back of it, and then to the palm. The heat was nearly gone from the metal. It felt warm the way a hand was supposed to. She cupped it against her cheek, cradling it to her face with both of her own hands. “Don’t you understand how much I care about you? Don’t you understand that I want to be with you? I will always be with you, Fareeha. Can't you trust me?”

Fareeha stared at her. There was something both hopeful and fearful in her eyes. Then she sighed heavily.

“Every time I wake you’re more grown up. You’ve gotten very bold, Brigitte.” Her thumb moved back and forth, just a little.

“I said that I want to be like you.”

Fareeha laughed flatly. “I wouldn’t call myself bold. I’m…” She trailed off, and took her hand away, and then put it back. She touched the corner of Brigitte’s mouth with her thumb.

“Be bold now, then,” Brigitte said, quietly, and Fareeha laughed again. But she leaned forward.

The chill of her lips was thrilling this time. Brigitte chased after it. They kissed more deeply than before, though it made the skin of her arms tighten into bumps. It was strange, and she liked the strangeness of it. She breathed into Fareeha’s mouth, hoping she’d feel like all the way inside her, like one felt the first breath of a winter morning all the way into the chest.

“If I went to bed, would you come with me?” she whispered.

Fareeha nodded.

Brigitte drew her toward the bed by the hand. She pushed her gently until she sat, and then crawled onto her. Then began to take off her brassiere. Fareeha said “oh” and grabbed her shoulders, then quickly let go again.

“Brigitte, are you sure—”

“This is the only way you can feel it, right? I—want you to be warm.” She tried not to think about anything as she set her brassiere aside and leaned forward until her chest and stomach pressed against Fareeha’s. She had begun to sweat slightly, and the armor now felt quite cold against her skin, and she tried to hide the helpless shiver that went through her by hitching up and grabbing Fareeha’s shoulders and kissing her ferociously.

Fareeha’s hands came to rest lightly on her waist. Brigitte covered one with her own and pressed it more firmly against her skin.

“You can touch me, if you want,” she whispered. Fareeha’s hand rubbed a small circle, then began to drift. Brigitte let it go as it wandered to the small of her back, then trailed higher, between her shoulders. Brigitte bent to kiss Fareeha’s own shoulder. Then she pressed her lips against the sturdy breastplate. She did not know if it was the right thing to do, but Fareeha clutched suddenly at her hair and said, “Oh.”

Brigitte smiled against the plate. She tried to move her mouth lower, but she could not bend far enough while they were still sitting upright.

“Fareeha, can you please move more onto the bed?”

Fareeha shifted under her, drawing herself higher up the bed until her feet had left the floor and she was no longer sitting at its edge.

Brigitte pushed her over backward.

Fareeha fell unresistingly, as easy as if the armor were all empty inside.

Brigitte bent to kiss her cold mouth and her cold chest and her cold stomach. She could see smudges on the plate where her lips had already touched. Fareeha hated for any mark to be left upon her armor. She could not rest until she had cleaned it properly after use. Now that responsibility was left to Brigitte. So, then, she had already earned her right to leave these smudges behind. Fareeha stroked over the top of her head so lightly that she hardly felt it. An idea came to Brigitte, and she found Fareeha’s other hand and brought it toward her so that she could touch her lips to two of the stiff fingertips and then take them into her mouth.

Fareeha said “oh” again, soft and surprised, and then gave a small merry laugh. She had seen the helpless change in Brigitte's expression. “How does that taste?”

Brigitte had to take the fingers from her mouth to say, “fine,” which was not true. The finger joints were rubbed down with oil to help them smoothly bend, and the taste was unpleasant. Fareeha laughed again and tugged gently on her hair until she came up to kiss her mouth.

“Drink some water, silly girl.” 

That made the top of Brigitte's head burn hot, and something fluttery stirred in her stomach. She hesitated. “Don’t move. I’m going to come back.”

She climbed from the bed and went to her pack. From it she took a wineskin to rinse her mouth and the heavy blanket rolled and bound to the outside, which she draped loosely over his shoulders, letting it hang open at the front.

“You’re cold?” Fareeha asked as she came back to the bed. It seemed that she might get up, and Brigitte had to press her down.

“No,” she said. “Only a little.”

The fire was making the room more comfortable, but the armor was pulling the heat straight from her skin, trying to absorb it.

She put her knee onto the bed, then paused. She cast her eyes away as she moved her arms under the blanket and unlaced her breeches and pushed them and her braies down her legs to the floor. Then she climbed very quickly onto the bed and laid herself on top of Fareeha. It was somehow less frightening to be pressed all the way against her than to stand beside the bed where she could be seen.

Fareeha wrapped an arm around her, over top of the blanket. Then Brigitte felt a tug at the back of her head, and suddenly her hair came loose and fell in a heavy curtain past her shoulder and spilled freely around her head and Fareeha’s.

“You have very pretty hair,” Fareeha said in a low voice, winding her hand gently through it and pulling down until Brigitte’s head lowered.

Something happened when they kissed this time. Something melted. They moved more easily. Fareeha touched her without needing to be guided. Her hip, her thigh, her side. Brigitte squirmed with an impatient, urgent delight—and because it was uncomfortable to lie still on the rigid armor. But if she were not on top, she knew that Fareeha would be too cautious to press all the way against her, and it’d be a waste that she’d taken off all her clothes.

She was beginning to feel warmer under the blanket, which hung down over both of them, making a dark space between their bodies. There was an ache between her legs that she felt when her heart beat.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Fareeha asked, when Brigitte had to catch her breath for a moment.

“Of course,” she lied. The question made her nervous. Was there something she was _supposed_ to be doing? “Do you want me to—um—”

“You can do anything you want,” Fareeha said. Her hand moved from Brigitte’s side to her breast, and Brigitte’s body twitched.

“Too cold?” Brigitte asked, and Brigitte shook her head.

“No; it’s—good. Is there…” She looked down at her hands, spread out over Fareeha’s own chest. “Can I do anything that would be… good for you?”

Fareeha quieted, seeming to think about it. “It’s already good. I… don’t think there’s anything else you can do. I don’t think I can… ah…”

“Oh,” Brigitte said. She felt a mixture of disappointment and guilty relief that she might not have to figure out what to do for Fareeha like this. She was willing to try, but it seemed daunting. She moved her hands over the armor, unsure how to proceed.

“It’s all right. I like this.” She pinched at Brigitte’s chest, making her squeak and buck. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

They shifted against each other. She kissed Fareeha over and over so they could stay close together as she slipped a hand between her own legs, slowly, as though Fareeha might not notice, and began to rub herself. She didn't have the nerve to touch herself while being _watched_. Not like this, not when it was all just for _herself_ and she couldn’t do anything to help Fareeha feel the same way. So she kept Fareeha busy and distracted with her mouth while she tried to take care of herself.

A moment later, she felt Fareeha touch her hand. The one she was using. Fareeha's hand spread over hers and rested there, following along with her movements.

“It's all right,” Fareeha whispered. “It’s all right.”

Brigitte made a little noise, and trembled, and went on trembling as her body reached a peak.

She pitched away from Fareeha a moment later, tumbling out from under her blanket, and lay panting on her side.

“Thank you,” she said, faintly. She watched as Fareeha, smiling, picked up the ribbon that she’d pulled out of her hair and tied it around her gauntlet.

A year of news made the hours pass quickly. Brigitte did most of the talking to fill the time while Fareeha asked questions and listened. It was comfortable, and Brigitte felt no tiredness. It felt like it might go on forever, as though this were the beginning of something that lay open and ready before them. One or the other of them got up from time to time to tend the fire.

“Do you think it’s close to dawn?” Fareeha asked after some time. There was no light through the windows, but they’d developed a reliable sense for how long these nights lasted.

“I think so. Soon.” She didn’t want to admit it. They deserved more time.

Fareeha said, “I want to see the sun.”

Brigitte laced her fingers together with the unwieldy gauntlet. “I want you to see it, too. You will one day.”

Fareeha laughed softly, shaking her head. “Not someday. I want to watch it rise today.”

“What?” Brigitte looked at her in alarm. “Will it hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Fareeha said. “I don’t care if it does.”

They’d been inside each time before. It had always gone the same way: the smoke coming from Fareeha’s body had intensified, engulfing her, and then she wasn’t there any more, and the armor fell apart. She’d never been exposed to the sun’s direct light. It could hurt her. It could destroy her completely, the way it destroyed some wild magic constructs. What if she never came back again? Brigitte imagined the possibilities with distress.

But how could she deny Fareeha the sun?

They went out of the lodge and went to a clear spot that offered an unblocked view of the sun coming over the hills. A hardy little pair of quince trees had been there, but they’d become choked by brambles. Whatever force kept the lodge from rotting offered no such protection to anything outside its walls. But there was an huge outcropping of stone jutting from the earth at an angle that rose above the brambles and signs of decay, and there they sat there wrapped together in Brigitte’s blanket. Fareeha leaned against her side and watched the sky change.

The sky was already lightening, erasing the stars in the east.

“I wish you could stay,” Brigitte said, even though it was selfish and childish.

Fareeha said, “So do I,” and then, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I told you I’d be here. And I will next year. And then…” She didn’t finish what she was going to say, but Fareeha seemed to take her own meaning from the silence that came after. Fareeha found her hand and gripped it, and Brigitte covered it in turn, holding Fareeha’s hand between both of her own. She’d dressed herself warmly, in her quilted shirt and coat, but her hands were bare.

And so they waited there for the sun to rise, the sky glowing brighter as the dawn approached. There were clouds overhead, but the hilltops were clear and unobscured. Then the sun came over the distant hill crest, the merest sliver of it brightening the edges of the evergreen trees. Fareeha said, softly, “Oh, it’s beautiful,” as smoke poured heavily out of her armor.

She leaned against Brigitte’s shoulder, whose mouth helplessly quivered, while the sun lit the vapor that churned around them. Then the weight against Brigitte’s side lifted, and pieces of armor clattered noisily onto the rock.

When the sun was fully above the horizon, she bundled Fareeha’s armor into the blanket and carried it into the lodge. She cleaned each piece, oiled each joint and hinge. She removed the ribbon from the gauntlet to keep it safe, then retied it. Then she laid the suit out on the slab in the lodge’s vault.

She bent to kiss the armet’s forehead.

“I have something to tell you, Fareeha,” she whispered. Only now, when everything was quiet and she was alone, could she bring herself to speak about it. She raised the visor as though to look into Fareeha's eyes. “I’ve been speaking to a…” She paused. “She’s a witch. I found her. I’m going to bring her here, and she’s going to help you. You won’t be trapped anymore.”

The armor was not surprised, or pleased, or disappointed. Brigitte leaned her head onto its arched chest. “I'll make sure you're always warm.”

Eventually she grew too hungry to stay. Brigitte left the vault and pushed the heavy door shut, wiping her eyes. She would eat, and see to her horse, and then sleep. In a day or two, after she’d restocked the firewood and rested well enough, she would return home before the weather turned worse.

And then she would have a year to complete her plans.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title taken from [_Keep It Low_ by The Hundred In The Hands.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uO3ZbpWNIs)


End file.
